


Portrait

by animefreak



Category: Raven TV (1992)
Genre: F/M, Family Issues, True Love, loss of a loved one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-23
Updated: 2010-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animefreak/pseuds/animefreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan meets, woos and loses, again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Portrait

disclaimer: all things Raven are not mine. Not for profit, just for some good angsty fun.

time ....... 1993  
place ........ hawaii  
spoilers .......not this time.

The Portrait

For several days, Jonathan Raven had been aware of someone watching him. He had become aware of being observed while working out one morning. He'd finished his blindfolded work out with a staff and caught movement at the periphery of his vision as he removed the blindfold. The feeling of being watched had continued. Today he decided it must be his next door neighbor. The second floor had a row of windows, a couple of which could observe his back yard through the surrounding foliage.

Curious, he walked out his front door, across his lawn and then across the lawn next door before knocking on his neighbor’s front door, which gave slightly at his touch.

"It's open," a female voice called, apparently from upstairs.

Jonathan pushed the door open and looked in. The entry way was tiled and otherwise bare. He stepped in and looked around. The place was expensive, but empty.

"I'm in the studio," the voice called down.

He followed the call upstairs cautiously. The top floor seemed to be entirely taken up with an open loft studio. A slender red haired woman stood regarding a painting on an easel as she wiped her hands on a paint-stained rag.

"It's okay, Toby. I've finished the extracurricular -- oh, dear. Busted," she said with a laugh as she recognized her visitor.

His attention was riveted by the painting on the easel. The figure in the foreground was easily identifiable, clad in the bottom half of a ninja outfit the artist had captured her neighbor in motion. Behind the figure was an enlarged vision of the dragon tattoo on his back. Around both were symbols of the yakuza, the Black Dragons, and other items associated with him. It was breathtaking and frightening.

Jonathan turned a seriously dark look on the woman gazing at him bemusedly. She smiled. There was an understanding warmth in her eyes?

She held out the customary hand to him. "I'm Libby Harris."

Almost against his will, he took her hand. "Raven. Jonathan Raven."

Her smile seemed to broaden. "I suppose I owe you an apology." She nodded toward the painting. "I just couldn't resist once I saw the tattoo, I'm afraid."

"I don't think I understand."

"Oh. I saw you one morning. Practicing. The tattoo caught my attention as much as the practice. I have a weakness for martial arts."

"Do you?"

"Yep. Oh, don't touch it yet. I just finished. It's still wet,” she cautioned.

He drew back his hand. "It's -- quite impressive."

She chuckled. "Yeah. And absolutely useless."

He turned back to her, a frown furrowing his brow. "Useless?"

"Yeah. No release from the subject and no commission for anything remotely like it. Would you like it?"

Jonathan got the feeling that this entire meeting was not going anywhere he had anticipated. "Yes," he heard himself saying.

"Good. It'll be a couple of days before it's dry. I'll bring it over when it is."

The door downstairs opened and closed. "Libby!" a male voice bellowed below. "Libby! Where are you?"

She leaned over the banister to see if this was Toby, which she could tell it was by the bellow. "Up here, where else?"

The man, medium height and stocky of build, took the stairs two at a time and stopped abruptly when he saw Jonathan. "Oh. Sorry. Didn't know you had company. Might tell a person," he prompted, his voice acquiring a slightly British clipped edge.

"Toby, you didn't give me a chance. Mr. Raven, Toby Meyers, my agent," she introduced the two men.

"Mr. Raven," Toby acknowledged the introduction with a nod. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the portrait and made the connection. "Ah -- er --"

"Mr. Meyers. I was just leaving." He looked back at Libby and nodded before moving past Toby and down the stairs.

Having solved the mystery, and losing the sensation of being watched since the artist was finished with her project, the next couple of days passed without incident. The tension gone, Jonathan dropped his guard enough that someone got through. He wasn't certain whether the attackers were connected with Ski's current endeavors, or with himself, when he was knocked sprawling by a sharp smack to the back of the head with something heavy. A second blow caught him across the temple before he could recover and sent him sliding down close to unconsciousness where he drifted between true unconscious and a sort of sleep like state. Jonathan was aware of someone ransacking his house, but couldn't seem to muster enough interest to do anything about it.

Silence. He was about to let go completely, when he heard his front door slide open. He tried to concentrate through the encroaching darkness.

"Mr. Raven?"

Libby. Damn. If his attackers were still here -- He managed to pull himself up onto hands and knees as her light footsteps came into the house. He heard her set down something heavy. More footsteps. A soft intake of breath.

"Oh, shit," she said indelicately and took a quick look around before moving to his side. She took a quick look at the blood still oozing down the side of Jonathan's face as she knelt beside him, reaching out hesitantly. "Jonathan?"

"Yeah," he said shakily.

"There doesn't seem to be anyone else here," she assured him, before finally letting her hands come to rest on his arm and back. "Maybe you should lie down."

He turned his face to her, his eyes only partially focusing. With a nod, he let go. Darkness.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

He wished someone would turn that damn beeper off. It was annoying him. Jonathan tried to turn over and found that he couldn't. With a frown, he opened his eyes. Blink. Blink. Blink. White. White on white. Blink. Focus. White ceiling. Beep. Beep. Monitor. He tried looking lower. Ah. Monitors. Wires. IV. Hospital, he finally identified his surroundings. His head hurt.

He discovered thirst, shifted his head slightly against the pillow and discovered a red headed visitor regarding him from the chair beside the bed. His brows drew together in a frown.

"Hi. I sent Ski out to get a bite to eat. He was hovering," Libby told him conversationally. "Thirsty?" She stood up, stretched slightly and stepped over to the bed. She picked up a small plastic cup with a straw and held it for him to get a drink.

He took the cup in the hand he could move. "I think I can handle this."

"Good. You had us worried," she told him with a soft smile.

"Us?"

"Us," she agreed. "Ski definitely. You've been out for two days. He seemed to think that was excessive, regardless of the amount of damage inflicted. And me, of course."

"Of course," he agreed, not quite understanding why she would be worried.

She chuckled at his response. "Ski did mention that you occasionally get stuck in parrot mode."

In spite of himself, Jonathan smiled at that. "Parrot mode," he echoed and was rewarded with another chuckle.

"Uh huh. No sign of who and no understanding of why someone smacked you and ransacked your place. You have any ideas?"

Upon consideration, no, he didn't have any ideas. "I don't know."

"Hmm. Ski seems a bit contrite. Maybe he knows more than he's telling,” she offered.

"Maybe." He let her take the cup and set it back on the table.  
"Didn't they give me anything for the throb?"

"No. You were unconscious. Throbs don't count unless you can complain about them." She handed him the buzzer to summon the nurse.

Ski and the nurse arrived simultaneously, Ski's gravel voice a welcome sound in his ears. The nurse noted his return to consciousness on the chart and advised that she would bring something for his head as soon as the doctor saw him and consented.

Jonathan closed his eyes. Throb. Throb. Throb. The beat of his heart echoed in his head.

"Jonathan, you don't look so good," Ski told him.

A slight smile greeted this comment. "Thank you."

"No. I mean, I've seen -- rrr-hrmm. I mean --"

Libby laughed. "You've seen him worse, I take it."

"Well, it happens in our business," Ski responded obliquely.

"Ah. I seem to have made the acquaintance of a couple of dangerous types. Don't they mention ducking in the standard issue "dangerous types" training manual?"

"If you see them coming, yes," Jonathan shot back dryly.

"Ah, but if they silently sneak up on you from behind, that's a whole different set of forms," she followed up.

"Yes."

"Well, now that Ski's back, I'd best be going."

Jonathan dignified this announcement by opening his eyes. She was still standing by the side of the bed, gazing down at him. Impulsively, she leaned over and kissed him before turning and leaving. She turned back in the doorway. "Mind if I check in on you later?"

"No. Not at all."

She flashed him that warm smile again and left.

The doctor kept Jonathan in the hospital for two days, for observation. He chafed under the restriction, but complied. It couldn't get much worse. Ski was in and out to visit, and so was Libby. He found her lack of inquisitive questions refreshing. They sat in companionable silence, broken by the scratching of her pencil as she sketched bits and pieces for a painting she was working on. She wouldn't let him see the sketches for that, but did let him look at some of the other things in her sketch book.

Libby was good. She referred to herself as a hack commercial artist, specializing in book covers for science fiction and heroic fantasy novels. He thought she was better than that, which explained why her work was in demand.

Jonathan checked himself out the second day, late and was surprised to see his Jeep Renegade sitting out front, his next door neighbor leaning on the front fender.

"Where's Ski?"

"Busy.”

"Busy?"

"Busy. He sent me along to collect you."

He held out his hand for the keys. She dropped them into his hand and climbed into the passenger seat as he came around the car to the driver's side. "He let you drive *my* car."

What an astonishing innocent look she turned on him. "Of course," she told him with a brilliant smile. "After all, *he* doesn't know what a lousy driver I am." The chuckle spoiled her straight-faced delivery.

"That doesn't make me feel any better about it."

"I know."

He drove in silence, noting that she seemed to take in everything around her, occasionally glancing at his profile, but not asking anything. Or saying anything. He pulled into his driveway and stopped. The lights were on inside. Motioning her to stay where she was, he crossed the intervening space in silent cat foot style; eased the door open and discovered that Libby had not stayed in the car.

"It's probably Ski. He was straightening up."

Let down. He stepped in and caught the incongruous sight of Ski with a dustpan in one hand and a small brush in the other. The older man quickly hid these items behind him as he caught sight of Jonathan. "Oh, hi. Libby get you home OK?"

"Yes." His house looked quite un-ransacked. There were a few odds and ends missing, but other than that, everything seemed to be in place and undamaged. "Thank you."

"Aw -- don't mention it. Just figured you'd hate to have to come home and straighten up. I got dinner, too. Don't look at me like that. I got take out. Japanese take out," Ski defended himself.

Jonathan looked long suffering as he allowed himself to be led to the table and settled on the cushion beside it while Ski and Libby did the honors of setting out dinner. He ended up more pleased than he had anticipated. Ski had allowed Libby to guide his hand in getting the order in. Except for the pile of tempura vegetables and shrimp that ended up in front of Ski, the meal was quite traditionally Japanese in flavor and sight. He wasn't surprised when Libby joined them and demonstrated that a red haired Celtic woman could handle chopsticks with the quiet grace of a native Japanese.

She caught his glance and grinned. "Kyoto."

"Kyoto?"

"Uh huh. Went to study block fabric print styles. Discovered that real Japanese food was diverse and tasty and that chopsticks are simple to use."

"You do seem to get around."

"I try," she said softly, her eyes fixed on his.

Ski coughed politely to get the attention back on dinner.

After dinner, Ski made his excuses and left them alone. While Libby was in the bathroom for a moment, Jonathan quickly checked for the box in which he kept several mementos, including one of the notebooks with the information on the search for his son and Aki's letter. It was missing.

He frowned. He had been closing it when -- when he was hit. He had a vague memory of -- of.

Libby picked this somewhat in opportune moment to intrude on his thoughts. "Something wrong?"

His hands circled her wrists, pulling her down onto the floor beside him, his dark eyes boring into her. "Where is it?" No matter that she had helped, had been concerned, his first need was to find that box.

"Where's what?" She was aware that he was going to leave bruises if he didn't lighten up on her wrists, but he seemed very disturbed by whatever it was that was missing.

"The box."

"What box?"

Her pulse was accelerated, but slowing down. He'd startled her. "The box on the table when you found me."

She frowned, trying to place a box in the picture. She shook her head. "Nope. No box. Not when I came in. They took it? No."

"No?"

"Well, they'd hardly have ransacked the place if what they were looking for was in plain sight, now would they?"

Unless they didn't know it *was* in plain sight. Jonathan looked into her eyes again and discovered that the room temperature seemed to have risen a few degrees. His grip on her wrists loosened. He pulled her toward him. She welcomed his kiss with a smile. Somehow, she seemed to have gotten into his arms and onto the floor without either of them noticing the journey. Her kisses were warm, deep, arousing.

A part of Libby's mind was watching in fascination as she responded to Jonathan's kiss, to his hands on her, to his scent, to his desire. It wasn't scandalized, as it felt it should have been. It was more wondering where the hell this had been and why hadn't she noticed it before.

Sometime later, her head on Jonathan's chest as they lay on the floor surrounded by discarded clothing, she noticed that there was something under the couch. Lazily, she moved across Jonathan, who looked at her curiously. She reached under the couch and pulled out a box.

"I think I may have found your box," she told him, holding it out to him.

He took it from her, opened it, nodded and closed it again.

"All there?"

"Yes." He pulled his trousers on and went to put the box in its place. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She looked around and started sorting her things out from his. "You need to go to bed."

"Come with me?"

She stopped turning her shirt right side out and gave him a speculative look. "OK." She stood up, dropping the shirt and joined him.

Over the next two weeks, she spent most of the time when she wasn't working, at Jonathan's. They spent hours in silence, which didn't seem to bother her. She seemed to enjoy Ski's intrusions and became curious about their search for Jonathan's son. Jonathan found her presence less intrusive into his existence than he would have thought possible. She warmed his heart in ways he had thought lost to him.

He found her frowning over her sketchbook one evening after dinner. "What?"

"Hm?" she looked up and smiled. "Oh, just musing." Pause. "Uhm, Jonathan."

"Yes?"

"How long have you and Ski been looking?"

"A couple of years," came his off hand answer.

"Hmm. And you've had leads, but none that panned out?"

"Yes."

"And mostly you're going on the birthmark."

"Yes." Where was this going?

"Haven't you ever tried to come up with a picture?"

"There aren't any. And if there were, there's a big difference between a baby and a youth."

"True. But a competent sketch artist should be able to draw conclusions between you and the mother -- probably skin tone, bone structure, that kind of thing."

Jonathan regarded her for a moment. "An artist's rendition?"

She nodded. "Or renditions. After all, there are possibilities, not guarantees."

He sat down across from her. "Could you?"

"I could try. I know what you look like. Tell me about his mother."

"Aki."

"Aki. Short and pretty. Was she?"

"Not short."

It took some time, but she finally seemed to have gotten everything out of Jonathan she could about his lost love. She sketched as they talked. She showed him three detailed sketches, based on his words. Like her painting of him, it was frightening how she had captured Aki. Two of the sketches showed her in a traditional kimono, the third an almost Madonna like rendition, her face lit from within as her head was bowed over a small wrapped bundle in her hands. The son he sought.

He nodded slowly, "Yes. This is Aki."

"Good. Now -- go find something to do. I need to concentrate."

He was surprised by her abrupt dismissal of him, but he recognized the look of concentration on her face as she let her pencil move across the paper. He would wait for whatever she was working on took shape. In the meantime, he'd go check in with Ski.

The house was empty when he got back. Empty of Libby's presence. He found he missed it. There was a warmth that seemed to come and go with her. Her sketchbook sat on the table. He opened it. The sketch of Ski in full Viking outfit with a beer horn in one hand and a faceless wench in the other made him smile. A second sketch disturbed him. Again, he was in the bottom half of a traditional ninja assassin's garb, a sword held at the ready. This time Ski was in the same picture, guns blazing. In the background was a shadowy dragon form, the eyes ablaze with – with what?

He turned the page. Another sketch, less disturbing, just his face, concentrating on structure. Then the sketches of Aki. Those almost hurt, they were so accurate. Three sheets fell out of the book. He picked them up and looked on the face of a youth with almond eyes. Not Japanese. His features were too strongly delineated for that, the bone structure too heavy. He compared the sketches with those of himself and Aki. Yes. He could see this. He could see both of them in this face.

There was a note on the back of one of the sketches. "I think this one's the most reasonable. Skin tones probably darker than Aki, but not very dark. Neither of you is particularly deep colored. *Not* Polynesian. Well, possible, anything is possible, but not probable."

A while later, as he sat in meditation, he heard her come across the grass, stop at the edge of his platform, and then step up onto it. She knelt behind him and leaned until she almost touched his shoulder with her chin. "Busy?"

How did he answer that? Meditation was the art of not being busy.

"Join you?" She sat down, swinging her legs to one side of him, and putting her arms around him. She was warm against him. She rested the side of her face against his shoulder. Silence.

They sat companionably for a while, Jonathan letting his mind wander, Libby watching the sky, the water and listening to him breathe. She chuckled. She moved her head until her breath tickled his ear. "I love you."

"What?"

"I love you. Thought I should tell you." She settled against him again as though it were natural.

He felt warm. He rested his arms over hers, holding her. Then he turned and slid his arms around her, pulling her onto his lap. He gazed into her eyes and wondered at what he saw there. If the tight hug surprised her, she didn't show it.

"Hey. Tall, dark and half naked guy, it's OK."

Jonathan laughed at that. "Yes. It is. I love you."

Such simple words. Such world changing words. They kissed. The sun sank below the horizon. Ski barged into the house, took a look at the two on the meditation platform and did his best to unobtrusively leave again. They let him go, knowing he would be back.

They made love like there was no tomorrow and forever was theirs. Ski helped move her things into Jonathan's house. Except for the studio. "Hey, when I work, I work. You don't want to get involved. Trust me," she had explained with a laugh, and a kiss.

Acceptance. Maybe that was it. Libby asked questions, but her judgments were outside the ones he expected. Slowly, he told her about himself. Her laughter surprised him. She reminded him that she had classed both he and Ski as "dangerous men" early on. Even his darkness was acceptable. The ache for Aki softened, faded.

"Marry me."

"What?"

"Marry me." The words he had never said to Aki, had never had the chance to say.

Libby looked at him in wonder for a moment. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"I love you, Jonathan Raven!" she had told him, and accepted with a kiss that rapidly bore them off into other realms.

Ski had not been surprised when Jonathan told him of his plans to wed. "About time," he told his friend.

"Am I the only one who didn't know?" Jonathan asked with a laugh.

Ski regarded him seriously. "You knew. You just took time to make certain. So, when?"

"A couple of months. Libby has a meeting in New York in two weeks and she wants to bring her cousins out to meet me."

"Cousins?"

"Yes. The only family she has, apparently. Harve and Kelly."

"Hey, you think Kelly's like her cousin?"

"Ski!"

"Just askin'."

Libby called her cousins to tell them the news. "Harve! How are you? Good. I've got some news. -- What? No, the deal didn't fall through, you fink. -- I want you and Kelly to come for a visit.--- I'm not coming back. -- It's OK, I'm getting married. -- Yes. Married. -- I guess I finally found the right guy. -- You will? And Kelly? I want her here, too. -- I think you'll like him." She turned to looked at Jonathan who was running through a blindfolded kata in the back yard. "Tall, long hair, tattoos, likes to hang out half dressed," she described him with a laugh. "He's very nice, not an artist, has his own money. And I love him." The last was said with quiet conviction. Harve seemed pleased with the announcement.

"Then you'll come back with me from New York?"

Of course, they would. The trip would do Kelly good. Maybe Hawaii would encourage her to get out of herself and back to living again.

"Are they coming?"

"Yep. Good thing we held onto the house next door, huh?"

"Yes. But they might like some furniture."

Libby laughed at that. "You and Ski take care of it? I have to finish packing up the canvasses and get them shipped out."

"We'll take care of it."

The next few days were busy. Delivery vans blocked the street delivering furniture and carting away the canvases. Ski came up with another lead on Jonathan's son, which he disappeared to follow up on, while Jonathan and Libby filled their spare minutes with each other.

Toby, in the interests of giving his client and her fiancée as much time together as possible, chartered a small plane to ferry the two of them to the mainland, there to transfer to the more convenient across country flights run by the major airlines. He made certain she got packed for the trip and that she and Jonathan were on the way to the airport in plenty of time before the flight was due to take off.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Toby asked again, watching the two of them together. The romantic in his soul seemed to have awakened and he really felt bad parting the two of them for something so mundane as a contract signing.

"Yes," Jonathan assured him with a laugh. "I am certain. Someone has to make sure Ski stays out of trouble."

Libby laughed. "And just in case he's successful," she added softly.

Jonathan felt as though his heart was going to overflow. He walked her to the plane, kissed her one last time, and was surprised when she suddenly caught both his hand in hers, a very serious look on her face. "What?"

"Jonathan. I love you. No matter what or where or when, I will always love you."

There was something almost desperate in her voice, in her eyes. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her. "I know," he whispered into the soft curls at the top of her head. "I know." He let her go. "And I love you."

She gave him her sunny smile and dashed up the steps into the plane.

He stepped back, the airport personnel removing the steps, the steward closing the door on the side of the plane. He could see her at the window, smiling and waving at him. He waved back. He moved out of the way as the small jet started its engines and rolled off down the runway.

He watched as it moved into the traffic pattern, the jet engines revving up, the turbines whining higher and higher as the plane got ready to move out. It pulled onto the runway and began rolling. It lifted off the concrete, the wheels pulled up and the plane vanished in a fireball. The explosion rocked the hangar behind him and nearly threw him to the ground. Flaming debris rained out of the sky.

Ski, having lost another promising lead, was flipping radio stations when he heard the broadcast. A small jet plane had exploded just over the runway at Honolulu International. A great Arctic horned owl seemed to suddenly flutter into being in his belly. "Jonathan," he said to himself as he pulled a u-turn and headed for the airport.

He found his friend sitting next to the empty hangar, his eyes fixed on the horizon where his life had vanished. He cussed to himself and walked over to where the younger man sat, his dark eyes empty of all life.

"Jonathan?" he addressed him quietly, warily.

The younger man looked up. It took a moment for him to recognize his friend. "Ski." His voice was dull, lifeless.

Ski squatted down next to him. "What happened?"

"The plane exploded."

"Libby."

A wordless nod.

"Damn. Come on." He stood up and held a hand out to his friend.

Jonathan stared at it for a moment, then accepted the proffered help up. Ski felt a tremor go through the man as he let go. Frowning, he put a hand on the other man's shoulder, for comfort, for reassurance. He almost expected Jonathan to shrug it off. Another tremor. Damn, he was wound tight over this. Of course, he was.

"Let's get out of here. Nothin' we can do right now." But the  
implication was that there would be something they could do later.  
Jonathan followed him, moving like a shadow.

Ski was not happy when he heard through certain channels of his own that the plane had been carrying a bomb. There was evidence in the wreckage that the explosion was deliberate. He set out to find out who and why. For once, he kept the knowledge to himself. He was keeping an eye on Jonathan.

The younger man seemed to have picked up his life and gone on. The portrait Libby had painted, that had brought them together, was framed and hung on the wall. He worked out, as he always had. He meditated to find focus and center. He continued the search for his son, keeping in mind the sketches Libby had drawn. He found things to keep him busy. And only once in a while did Ski surprise that awful hollow, dead look in his eyes.

A month after the explosion, when the theories of terrorism and pilot error had died down, Jonathan received a letter from an attorney. He opened it, read the letter within and set it aside. Ski found it, and curious, read the letter also.

"Mr. Raven;

There will be a reading of the Last Will and Testament of Elizabeth Harris at 10:00 am on the 24th. Please arrange to be present.

Sincerely,

Blah, blah, blah."

"Jonathan."

"Yes, Ski." He wondered why he had left the envelope there. He knew Ski would never resist the urge to look at it.

"You goin' to this will readin'?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Why should I?" He wondered why his hands would not remain steady as he tended to his orchids.

"I dunno. Just seems if she wanted you there, you might wanta go."

"Ski --" He caught the dangerous note in his own voice. His eyes  
flickered to the older man and away. How could he tell Ski that the thought of listening to Libby's will was like being skewered with flaming metal? How could he admit that he feared he would lose the control he was barely holding, that he would go plunging into the black vortex that threatened to swallow him?

"I'll go."

"No."

"Then you go."

How do you reach out to a man who isn't willing to let you reach out to him? Jonathan Raven was capable of helping, comforting, even healing where it was needed. But he could not reach out himself. His control was rigid. The black misery in his eyes tore at Ski. First Aki and his son, now this. And nothing either of them could do, or could have done to help. Ski felt old. Jonathan could see the defeated look in his friend's face. And that hurt him almost as much as Libby's death had. Hot anger coursed through him. He wanted to destroy someone, something for inflicting that hurt.

"I will." His voice was a whisper, a hollow, hurt whisper.

The lawyer's office was like all successful lawyer's offices, full of the scents of money, leather, paper and power. The lawyer was a man of middle years and success. Jonathan Raven was something of a surprise to him. His client had only mentioned that she was engaged to be married and needed to change her will to reflect her expected change in marital status. She had been so alive, so full of laughter. The cousins were difficult to assess. The woman was shrouded in a black silk scarf, black gloves on her slender hands to match the black silk suit she wore. Sunglasses hid half of the face that wasn't behind the scarf. Her mouth was thin lipped and narrow. Her brother was tall, heavily muscled, almost overpoweringly self confident in the manner of men of money and physical prowess.

Harve and Jonathan shook hands. The bluff smile didn't reach the cold blue eyes in the tanned face. If Jonathan was surprised to find his hand caught in a hard clasp, he didn't show it, merely gave as firm a grasp as he got. He shot a glance at the retiring figure of the woman. It was hard to see a family resemblance there. Or in the man.

The will was a surprise. The lawyer handed Jonathan a sealed envelope. A private message from his client, to be shared at the receiver's discretion. He pocketed the envelope and sat back to listen. Libby had left the property adjoining his to Jonathan and Kelly, jointly. Harvey seemed less than pleased with this pronouncement, but patted his sister's gloved hand reassuringly.

She left her bank account and investments to Jonathan, specifically for the joint support of himself and his son when necessary. He wondered distantly if she had any idea just how that bequest would affect him.

She left six specific paintings to Jonathan, including the “dragon" portrait. The rest, and the income derived from the contracts she had fulfilled, to go to her cousin Harve to do with as he pleased.

And that, was that.

The lawyer left them alone for a few moments after he finished.

Jonathan was, stunned, bewildered and bemused. He looked around at his co-inheritor. The woman was apparently shy to the point of incapacity.

"Well, you certainly seem to have been very much in Libby's heart when she wrote her will," Harve broke the silence. He almost shied back from the black look in Jonathan's eyes.

"I'm sorry if it shocks you. I love your -- cousin very much."

Kelly looked up from her contemplation of the floor. So much pain. He hurt so much she could almost feel it. She wanted to make it easier for him.

"Yes, I'm sure you did." Harve's response was pure venom.

Warning bells went off in Jonathan's head. He really looked at the man and woman. Something was wrong here. Something was very wrong.

"Kelly." Harve got to his feet, ready to leave the room.

"But --"

He turned toward her. "It's been very hard on you, I know," he said solicitously. "Just leave everything to me." He held out a hand to her.  
She took it and allowed her own hand to be drawn through his arm to escort her out of the room. He handed Jonathan a business card as they walked out. "Just have your lawyer contact mine. We'll get the house settled out and be out of your hair."

Jonathan stood, looking at the card in his hand. There was a hard look on his face when he looked up again, a look that surprised the lawyer coming back into the room.

"Ah, Mr. Raven. I didn't know you were still here," the man faltered.

The look softened. "It's all right. Had you known Libby long?"

"Miss Harris? No. She'd been in once before to review some contracts and to deposit her file with us. She seemed to feel that it was important to keep some items with a local firm."

Jonathan nodded and turned to go.

The lawyer seemed to come to a decision. "Mr. Raven."

"Yes?"

"She seemed very -- adamant? -- that you and Miss Cheyne should deal with the house."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I may be stepping out of line here, but she seemed -- very concerned that Miss Cheyne not have her brother's intervention."

Jonathan regarded the man curiously. "And why would that be?"

The man seemed flustered. "I'm not certain. But she was -- a bit scathing in her remarks about Mr. Cheyne."

"Scathing?"

"Yes. She seemed to think he would not allow Miss Cheyne to make her own decisions about her bequest if there was not some -- interference?"

Jonathan regarded him steadily. Libby had dropped a very few comments about her cousins. She was fond of Kelly and had said very little about Harve. It was beginning to look as though there were some solid reasons for dispensing with Harve.

The lawyer cleared his throat and cleaned his glasses. "Mr. Raven, if you won't take it amiss, my condolences on your loss. I did not know her well, but she seemed both kind and considerate when she was here. Not something you run into a lot in my business."

The young man's face softened. A faint smile played around his lips. "Thank you. She was not someone you ran into every day."

Jonathan went home, considering what he had seen and what he was reading between the lines. It was really no concern of his if Libby's cousin was taken care of, even obnoxiously, by her brother. Her bequests to him were a surprise, and he would honor them. If he ever found his son, Libby's money would provide a safety net for them. If --

He took off his suit jacket and hung it up, his hand brushing against the pocket where Libby's letter was. He pulled the envelope out of the jacket and looked at it. Letters from dead lovers. He swallowed hard. What would this one tell him? He went out into the living area and sat down. He turned the envelope over twice before he opened it and pulled out the single sheet within.

"Jonathan,

I hope this paper is yellow with age and nearly undecipherable. I hope that we have a long and wondrous life together. I need you to remember, I love you. Now, forever, beyond the gate that stands between this life and whatever lies beyond, I love you.

We have been together before, we will meet again. I'm not a big believer in much beyond what I can see, feel, touch, -- ok, basics. But I knew you when I saw you. I knew that you were a part of who I have been, that you were a part of who I am. You are the peace of my soul. You slide within my space and are comfortable. I cannot imagine life not knowing you are there, although I spent so much until now without that knowledge.

I love you. I love the son you haven't met yet. And if you are reading this, regardless of its age, I will be there when you come through the gate.

Libby"

"And I love you, Libby," he whispered in the silence, tears streaming down his face to splotch on the paper of her letter.

End


End file.
